


Third Tale

by elven_prophecy



Series: Tales from the Darkest Dungeons [3]
Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Attraction, Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, Loneliness, Loss of Virginity, Scars, Sex, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Smut, Stripping, Virginity, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elven_prophecy/pseuds/elven_prophecy
Summary: Enjoy!  Feel free to suggest other pairings in the comments!Comments are love!Comments are life!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! Feel free to suggest other pairings in the comments!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  1

   The Heir watched silently as another group of adventurers came off the stagecoach.  She'd had the thing upgraded for a more comfortable ride, making the two week journey from anywhere that much better.  Anything to bring in the warriors needed to help purge the evil of the hamlet.  She pressed her lips in a grim line.

   Barbarians(an Occultist and a Hellion to be exact) from the North, a couple Bounty Hunters, and a Plague Doctor.  The Hunters were probably here looking for either Dismas (not the firsts to come looking for the small thief) or his wife Valeria (it had come out that she was a Grave Robber of all things).  The Doctor, she knew would probably die here. The town's cemetery was dotted with the bird-like masks hanging from crosses.

   And so the most powerful woman in the hamlet left the square and made her way to a small cottage off the main road.  All adventurers had to sign in with her in order to be fed and lodged, and with this new group nothing changed.

   Once the Heir was out of sight, the carriage jostled as a particularly large masked man stepped off.  He'd had most of the coach to himself as the other passengers (bar the Doctor of course) had crammed themselves on one side while he and the Doctor had the other side.  The wood creaked and groaned with his heavy steps. A cloud of dust rose around his ankles as he shouldered his massive broken blade and made for the boarded up tavern.

   Eyes followed his slow and deliberate movements as he made for the counter where an older man stood, a dish rag in hand and a dirty mug in the other.

   He was given a wide berth and he heard someone whisper “Leper” somewhere behind him.  He pressed his lips into a grim line and turned his head to scan the room. A couple of harlots (the only other occupants had already left the tavern) stood by the staircase and when his masked eyes leveled on them they scurried up the steps (like rats) until they were out of his sight.   

   When he was alone with the bartender, he gently leaned his blade against the counter and tilted his head forward to look at the older man through the slits of his mask.

  “I've heard that demons lurk here.  Is this true?” his voice echoed hollowly from within his bronze mask.

  “Ayup,” the bartender nodded slowly, “yer lookin’ for Bosswoman,” the man continued.

  “And where might I find ‘Bosswoman’?” 

  The barkeep turned his head to the side and perfectly landed a spit ball into a tin spitbucket on the ground at his feet. “Her house,” he smiled, “under the dead tree.”

  The Leper nodded, placed a copper coin on the counter and grabbed his blade.  He hefted it over his shoulder without hesitation as he left the tavern. Nary a soul, save those that had traveled with him, populated the streets.  The wind rustled his white cloak that he wore over his cuirass. He straightened as he scanned the horizon.

   Dead tree.  

    His eyes zeroed in on a lone cottage beneath a behemoth of a dead tree.  The trunk was as wide as the house and it ballooned out like a bloated corpse.  He squared his shoulders and made his way, resolute, towards the cabin.

   He dropped his blade and planted it into the ground beside the door before he knocked.  The door opened a few minutes later and a petite woman in mourning with vibrant red hair greeted him.

   Her blue eyes raked over his form in mild surprise (taking in his size and bandages) and when she finally raised them to his metal mask, she swallowed. “Come,” she pushed the door wider and stepped aside, gathering the skirts of her black dress with her.

   “Bosswoman?” He inquired, enunciating the word carefully as he stepped inside.  He had to duck his head to enter and once inside found that he was not far from touching the ceiling with the top of his head.  He towered over her and her belongings.

   A faint smile curled her lips, “You've met Howard I see.” He remained silent as he stare down at her, his mouth (the only part of him that she could see) remained a twisted line.  Her smile vanished and she continued, “Yes, I am Lady Emily Jane Elizabeth Fairfax, Countess of Darkest, Heir apparent,” she actually curtsied formally in front of him. Years of formality drilled into his very soul had him returning the action with a bow, his right arm against his midsection.

   “Baldwin,” he introduced himself, “At your service, Madam.”

   “Bosswoman or the Heir will do,” she corrected him, her ice blue eyes looking him over studiously,  “You will not live long enough unfortunately for us to get better acquainted.”

   Her aplomb surprised him, but he found himself smiling briefly. “You've decided this in the five minutes you've been in my presence?”

   She blushed at the reprimand, but didn't answer, instead she cleared her throat and led him to what was obviously her study.  The chair she motioned for him to sit in was miniscule and he feared he'd break it if he attempted to sit in it, armoured as he was.

   “Baldwin,” his name rolled off her tongue like the sound of dawn, “Can you tell me a little about yourself?” She picked up her feathered quill and began scratching inside a huge ledger that took up most of her desk. “Any family that would need to be notified in case of your passing?” 

   “No,” he spoke impassively.  He was already dead to all those that mattered; he'd attended his own funeral.

_ Scratch, scratch, scratch _ .  He watched the feather in her hand dance and then it paused and clear blue eyes raised to his mask as he stayed quiet, not answering her question. “Would you remove your mask?”

   His eyes narrowed to mere slits and he remained silent as he stared down at her.  Then after a few moments, he slowly raised his armoured hands and undid the clamps that held the mask to his face.  He was deliberate as he removed it and revealed his appearance.  Before the disease had destroyed his looks, he'd been a good looking man with almost black hair and penetrating black eyes.  He'd had classical features that were often compared to historical paintings, but that was ages ago.  The sun had set on that part of his life.

   He would give her credit.  She did not flinch upon seeing his disfiguring scars (not to mention his distinct lack of a nose) and eyed him with consideration.  He eyed her right back, admittedly intrigued.

  “Leprosy,” she remarked, her voice as neutral as though she were discussing the weather.

  “Yes, Madam.”

_ Scratch, scratch, scratch _ went her quill and then she put it down.  She folded her fingers together and rested them on the ledger.

   “We run a tight ship here in the hamlet.  The others might not be comfortable with you in the barracks…” she trailed off and he smiled a sad, knowing smile, but allowed her to continue, “It would be best if you stayed in the guest bedroom,” she motioned to a room across from the study.  He blinked in surprise.

   “Your reputation, Madam?” he inquired, really surprised though he didn't show it.  She chuckled mirthlessly.

   “Quite safe,” she returned casually, “I am the one that lines the pockets of those willing to destroy the Eldritch demons.  I am above scrutiny."

   She did not add that she didn't believe he would live long enough for it to be a cause for concern, but he heard it on the silence.  He smiled again, bowed and returned his mask to his face, clamping everything back into place.

   “Thank you, Madam,” he spoke sincerely.  She nodded and stood to her feet. He watched as she walked around him and beckoned him to follow her, which he did.  

   The guest room that she took him too was small, but the bed was massive, definitely well suited to his size. “All I ask,” she spoke as she lit one of the lamps with a small wooden match, “is that you swing your big sword at anything monstrous that may attempt to enter uninvited.”

   He nodded his head regally. “As you wish, Madam.”


	2. Chapter 2

### 2

   He realized it the first night that there was something different about the hamlet and her.  After he'd gathered his sword from outside, he remained in his room (they dined together earlier though he’d remained standing), listening to her greet the others from the coach that had come with him.  She'd asked much of the same questions, but got much different answers then he'd given.  He heard her quill scratching away and he could see her in his mind bent over her ledger.

   The barbarians from the North had been polite, the hunters had barely spoken though one inquired on a thief by the name of Dismas.  The Madam had made it clear that she would tolerate no murders or kidnappings. He found himself thinking that he would enforce whatever law she decreed if she were to demand it of him.

   He was listening to her every words, and when she moved he visualized her perfectly.  The black dress clinging to her, her shawl covering her shoulders and arms. When the last of her guests finally left her home, he heard her sigh and heard the legs of her chair scratch against the floor as she got to her feet.

   “Baldwin?” He closed his eyes as she whispered his name after knocking on his door.  The sound of his name on her lips shouldn't have the effect it had on him, but it did.    

   “Yes, Madam?” he responded from the bed, he wasn't wearing his mask.  It was on the nightstand beside the bed.

   “Would you like a cup of tea?” He heard her ask as she stood outside his door.  She did not enter.

   “No, Madam,” he answered and then heard her sigh again as she left for the kitchen.  He licked his dry lips and grabbed his mask as he pulled it on. It sounded as though she wanted the company regardless if he was drinking tea or not and so he decided to join her.

   She was surprised to see him enter the kitchen a few minutes later just as she put the kettle on the woodstove.  She smiled at him and waved to a large chair at the head of a table that had most definitely not been there before.  He arched an eyebrow behind his mask that she couldn't see as he approached the wooden chair.

   “It belonged to my Ancestor,” she explained, watching him get closer the chair cautiously, “I had the Hunters drag it from the cellar earlier after noticing you ate standing up at supper.”

   “Thank you, Madam,” he bowed his head, extremely pleased and surprised.  He sat down in the large chair, and grinned (he did not notice her watching him).  It suited his size, and he found it rather comfortable.

   She smiled at him again and returned her attention to the kettle.  He couldn't help but notice her hands were shaking as she scooped crushed leaves into her wooden cup and poured the hot water into it.  She joined him at the table though she sat in one of the smaller chairs beside him.

   He kept his attention in her hands as she held her cup with both hands.

   “Thank you for deciding to stay here,” she sipped her drink and avoided looking at him.  He frowned and watched her hands.

  “What do you fear, Madam?” Tell me, he thought, tell me and I will slay it.

  She pulled her hands away from her cup and made fists on her lap. “There seems to be something in the air tonight,” she licked her lips, “I fear no one should be stepping outside this eve.”

   “Demons, then?” He queried.  She nodded and glanced his way.

   “My Ancestor,” she began and then shook her head, “he was a twisted man who _dabbled_ in the Dark Arts,” he did not fail to notice how she stressed the word, “he did… terrible things...and I'm afraid that the blood and misdeeds have corrupted the land.  He released an evil that the Light isn't banishing as easily as it should.”

   He listened quietly as she spoke, watching as her hands fluttered to and from her cup and her lap.  He wanted to reach out and still them, but he didn't.

   “The Light can not do all the work alone,” he explained after she was silent a while, “Prayers will help...”

   “It is not prayers I need,” her eyes raised to his mask as she cut him off, “I need warriors.”

   He linked his armoured hands as he rested his elbows on the armrest of the chair. “I _am_ a soldier, Madam,” he said deliberately, stretching his long legs out.  She nodded and took a sip of her tea.

   “I know,” she murmured, and then sighed, “I'm just a nervous wreck…”

   They sat there in her small kitchen in silence until a dark shadow seem to drain the very light from the room.  Of the seven candles lit, five snuffed themselves out and the two that remained flickered ominously as though a strong gust of wind was blowing (which is wasn't).

   She gasped and jumped to her feet as she made for the front door.  He didn't follow her right away, instead he went for his sword and _then_ exited the house behind her.  He used his arm to bring her behind him (he dwarfed her completely now that he was close to her) and shepherded her back into the house as he hefted his massive blade onto his shoulder.

   He was surprise to find what looked like thousands of eyes looking at him from the shadows of all the buildings, blinking out of synch as they were, but glowing white in the near pitch darkness.  He backed away deliberately, understanding that this was not a foe he could cut to pieces and once he'd ducked back into her house closed the door and locked it.

   “You've a weapon in your room, Madam?” he murmured, turning the key in the deadbolt.  He would admit to himself that what he'd seen outside unnerved him.

   She shook her head, “No…but I have a Versebook...”

   He turned to glance her way, tilting his head forward to better look at her “I suggest we take turns sleeping, and taking watch.”

   She swallowed and nodded, “All right then,” she licked her lips and blushed as she added, “My room or yours?” He was confused for a moment and stared at her in silence.  She reddened even more and started fiddling with her hands. “No?” she mumbled and then swallowed, “We're not going to share a room, are we?” .

   He remained silent as she continued to ramble anxiously about them sharing a room, his hands on the door as though he were making sure nothing was coming through, his face tilted in her direction. “Your virtue would be safe with me,” she continued, seemingly unable to stop, “I'm just really scared and I don't want to sleep alone…” He was glad for his mask in that moment for his stunned expression remained hidden.

   He blinked.  Had she just said his virtue was safe with her?!   _His_ virtue?

   She brightened drastically as he continued to face her in stony silence.  She _had_ said it, he hadn't misheard her.

   “Do you not fear that _I_ may have designs on _your_ virtue, Madam?” He found himself asking, unable to wrap his mind around what was coming out of her mouth.  He kept his mouth expressionless as he expressed the words that should truly be said.

   He was a Leper.  No one in their right mind would believe that _she_ was a threat to _his_ virtue, that she found him attractive enough to bed.  The mere thought was madness. More believable that he force himself on her despite the fact that he could never do that to a woman.  Especially one so much smaller than he, so much more fragile.

   That she had said it at all was both laughable and cruel.

   Cruel because despite his emotionless front, he found her wildly attractive and had he been whole and healthy, _he_ would have seduced her already.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love! 
> 
> Comments are life!

###  3

   When Lady Emily Jane Elizabeth Fairfax (Bosswoman/Heir to her employees, and Ems to her friends if she’d had any…) had opened the door to the massive warrior her first thoughts had not been lady-like at all.  Oh no. She'd taken her time (more than what was considered  _ polite _ ) looking him over and thinking about how much muscle he hid beneath all that armour and what those tree-trunk arms could do to her.  Her mouth had gone dry, and not because of the weather. 

    She  _ barely _ reached the middle of his chest… ( _ oof… and inward fanning of face _ ).

   He was masked, only his chin and mouth (both were scarred and already she fancied the warrior type) were visible, his mask matched his bronze cuirass she’d noted with a clinical eye (he’d come from money, which meant he hadn’t come to her hamlet seeking his fortune).  And then he'd entered her home.

   She was too well-bred to openly stare and gape and gasp, but inwardly she'd done just that ( _ double oof _ ).  He'd made everything in the house look like children's toys (and that had her pressing her legs together tightly for some reason).  She'd been fascinated with the way he held himself, there was a regal air about him that drew her eyes like a moth to the flame.

   She blushed and cursed her lack of tact when he’d reprimanded her but she’d needed to say something ( _ anything _ ) to draw attention away from her staring.

   The interview had not _at all_ gone the way it had been suppose to.  She gleaned  _ absolutely _ nothing from him bar his name (Baldwin… she couldn't stop herself from mouthing it).  She'd assumed the mask had hid some deformity, and hadn't expected him to obey her when she'd asked him to remove it.  He hadn’t flinched or tensed as she’d perused him, he’d remained absolutely still.

   Leprosy.  She'd identified the ravager of his face immediately, and two things popped unwarranted in her head.  He’d been a very good looking man once, and those  _ eyes _ ! (She was running out of  _ oofs _ …).

   Sad, world-weary black eyes ( _o o f_ ), and when he’d smiled at her comments on the barracks, that twisted knowing smile (you know it… Oof!!).  She’d found herself offering her home instead of return fare out of the hamlet. 

    She’d been as surprised as he’d been, though she hadn’t shown it quite as openly as he’d had.  

   Which brings us to the second thoughts she’d had, but hadn’t yet fully identified.  

    She was frankly terrified living alone in the Hamlet. Everyone feared her, the town folks reviled her because of her Ancestor (he really had been a terrible man).  She was unbearably lonely, all she ever had forward to look for were the newcomers (they hadn’t had the fear of her put into them yet). No one visited, no one wrote, and when she went  _ anywhere _ conversation ceased.  It didn’t matter that it was her gold financing  _ everything _ .  She was a pariah on her own lands.

   Baldwin was not much different then her in that regard.  Perhaps the pair of them, in their loneliness, could beat back the walls of madness.

   He’d been silent after she’d shown him his rooms.  He hadn’t come out for anything, not for the newcomers, nor for the grunts and groans the Bounty Hunters had sounded when they’d brought the heavy chair from the cellar.

   More unlady-like thoughts had crossed her mind as she pictured him sitting in the big chair.  He’d look like a king, seated on a throne… And she gladly inserted herself in the visual… seated most scandalously on his lap in her shift. (Her lack of experience made this fantasy feel illicit despite its tameness).

   She’d been disappointed when he’d turned her offer of tea down.  She’d have to come up with another reason to lure him out…

   She’d been more than pleased when he’d joined her anyways.  His reaction to the chair had given her a great sense of satisfaction (not to mention he looked exactly how she’d fantasized he would in the chair... Oof...), and then he’d grinned… Knocked the air right out of her lungs.

   And then, her Ancestor’s  _ pets _ had ruined  _ everything _ .

   Baldwin had shown himself to be more than capable (more fanning).  She hadn’t realized his sword was actually bigger than she was until he’d practically forced her behind him and she got a good look at it ( _ the mother of all oofs _ ). 

   Things had gone downhill from there.  Her mouth had run away with her when he’d said they should take turns sleeping.

   Had she actually  _ said _ they should share a room?  By the Light...she compounded it by taking her foot and placing it in her mouth because now she was rambling about his virtue...(blessed Light... Shut her up!) fear was a terrible tongue loosener.  She really didn’t want to sleep alone… those white eyes were everywhere...

    “Do you not fear that  _ I _ may have designs on  _ your _ virtue, Madam?”

   She’d blinked as he practically barked the words.  Fear gave way to something else as a warm liquid heat pooled in her lower belly suddenly.

  Him?  On her virtue?  It hadn’t occurred to her…

   This time, when she looked him up and down, she didn’t even try to hide her heated look.  He straightened against the door feeling her scrutiny as acutely as if she was touching him, and he swallowed.  His lips pressed in a thin line.

  “Madam?” his voice was hoarse.

   “Do you?” she found herself asking, her heartbeat accelerating uncontrollably and her cheeks reddening.  

  He remained against the door, his head turned in her direction. “No.” 

   Her face fell before she could control it and blinked rapidly to prevent tears of rejection from forming (oof… and not the good kind...).  

   “Oh,” she cleared her throat, and then licked her lips as she continued, “then it would all right to sleep in the same room.  Neither of us has designs on the other,” she smiled reassuringly at him, her hands wringing in front of her. 

   He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Madam,” he began.

   “Please,” she averted her teary gaze not wanting to look at him while she begged, “I’m really scared…”

   He pushed away from the door and walked past her carrying his massive blade.  He stopped in front of his door and straightened as he took a deep breath. 

   “Come,” he murmured, his back to her, “I will take first watch.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  4

   She’d watched him disappear into his room (he'd left the door open) and she was still wringing her hands for a long moment after he'd gone (for a different reason).  She'd succeeded in forcing him to share a room with her… now what was she going to sleep in?

   She blushed as a myriad of different scenarios played out in her head (none of them realistic to be honest).  He'd already made it quite clear he wasn't interested in her (He was always masked around her so she had no idea that he watched her as much as she watched him), so the sight of a bare leg or arm should not send him into a frenzy.

  Though if she were _honest_ … she gave her head a quick shake, now was not the time for fantasies.  She'd been blasé about her reputation, but she did care about what  _ he _ thought of her.

   There was a large and all-encompassing woolen nightgown she owned that would have been perfect, except it wasn't a cold, winter night and the damn thing itched (like mad) if she sweated in it.  Her usual night attire was _utterly_ inappropriate (a chemise that barely went to mid-thigh).  She didn't have anything else...

   Fully dressed then?  It was that or white eyes in the window.

   Fully dressed.

   She sighed heavily and squared her shoulders.  She was not looking forward to sleeping in her mourning dress, it was already uncomfortable as it was with its stays, laces and everything else in between… (painful oof)

   And so, like a woman facing the gallows (she had quite the dramatic flair), Lady Emily entered his room and tightened her shawl about her torso.

   His room was cool and dark (he preferred the darkness above all else) and she kept her head down as she went to the side of the large bed that wasn't disturbed.  He’d sat at the end of the bed, his broken blade pointed downward between his long legs. He’d wrapped his arms around the hilt and bowed his head against the pommel.

   She didn't know it, but he was praying fervently, keeping his eyes closed as to not catch a glimpse of her in her nightdress.  He didn't want any visuals. This was all kinds of  _ wrong _ .

    It took her a few minutes to turn down the blankets and she took a deep breath as she settled into the big bed as close to edge as possible.

    “Good night, Baldwin,” she murmured, making herself as comfortable as her dress allowed (which was _not at all_ ).

   His head raised. “Good night, Madam.”

*************

   He waited until he heard her faint and even breathing before he finally raised his head from his sword.  He couldn't help himself as he turned and glanced back towards her sleeping form. She was fretting in her sleep, her head tossing back and forth along the pillow, her hair a tangled mess of reds.  His fingers itched to touch it. Would he feel it?

   His eyes dropped to the black fabric peeking from below the blankets and he frowned from behind his mask.  She'd come to bed fully dressed…?

   He sighed in relief at the same time as he grimaced.  He doubted sleeping in her dress was comfortable but he was glad for it.  Since he'd offered first watch, he'd dreaded having her close in any form of dishabille.  He had a hard enough time keeping to himself as it was, and he  _ had _ to keep to himself.  

   He was no saint.  Far from it.

   His hands tightened on the hilt of his sword as he recalled the way she’d looked at him after he'd asked if she feared for her virtue.  There had been  _ nothing _ innocent in those clear blue eyes of hers and he'd found himself hardening against his will (thinking about her look had him shifting uncomfortably on the bed as he came to life again).  That part of him was still unaffected by the disease. Whether a blessing or a curse, he didn't know.

   How many years had it been since a woman,  _ any _ woman, had looked at him like that?  Her eyes had caressed his entire body and had enveloped him in flames.  He'd straightened unconsciously making himself bigger because he'd had wanted her to keep looking at him like that.  His size had always drawn the ladies in his youth.

   He ran a hand over the bronze mask, and blushed beneath it.  He was a fool.

   He'd lied to her.

_ Do you _ ?  She’d been bold when she'd asked him that.  He'd known  _ then _ that he could have her if he wanted to (he shifted again, though this time he had to rearrange himself).  It had taken  _ all _ of his considerable will power not to say yes.

_ And he wanted to _ .   

_ Still _ wanted  _ to _ .

   But...

   He closed his eyes as uncharacteristic tears filled his eyes.  

   He snorted in disgust and  _ clenched _ them closed as tight as he could and gritted his teeth until he could feel the veins in his forehead stick out.  He could feel his fingers whitening beneath his gauntlets as he clutched his sword tightly. He wouldn't feel sorry for himself, the sun had set on that too.  

   He was nothing but a dead man walking.  A husk of his former self. He had nothing to offer (bar his protection at the moment), no future, no children (his seed was diseased). 

    Nothing.  

    He couldn't even promise to live to see her land freed of the Eldritch demons, his disease could finish him off at any time (if her demons didn't get him first).

_ And _ he was contagious.  

   He could infect her if she came too close to his lesions.  He couldn't kiss her. Couldn't hold her naked body against his own (he shifted again).  His arms and lower legs were covered… his torso and back were clear though (It was a miracle that he’d remained much has he'd been before the disease where his trunk was concerned).  

   He no longer had a sense of taste or smell and his sense of touch was hit or miss half the time.  His only possessions: his broken executioner sword, his armour and his mask, were worth nothing because they'd all been made custom for  _ him _ ,  _ his _ body.

_ His life _ .  He swallowed.   _ She could have his life… _

  He snorted again and laid his forehead against his sword.

  No  _ sane _ woman would tie herself to a Leper.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  5

 It was 3am when he woke her for her turn.  Her eyes had fluttered open and she stared up at his mask face without recognition.

   She’d sitten up and had gasped but then she must have remembered who he was for she sighed in sudden relief.

   “Baldwin!” she said breathless, the sound sending a bolt of lightning dancing down his spine.

   “Madam,” he backed away and made his way to the otherside of the bed.  She sat up and stretched. She groaned as muscles stiffened and her body resisted.

   “My turn?” she’d mumbled, wiping her eyes of sleep.

   “Yes.” His back was to her though he was sitting on the bed.  She stifled a yawn and pulled herself from the warm cocoon of blankets.

   She noted from the corner of her eyes, Baldwin sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him.  He’d kept the mask on.

  She sat at the end of the bed (where he’d sat before) and glanced out the window.

  Her eyes widened when something blinked back at her.  She went to the window and drew the curtains roughly.

    She stood in front of the window for a moment, hugging herself before she went back to sit at the end of the bed.

   Baldwin watched her silently as she sat down at the end of the bed.  Her hair was a mess, and he wanted to run his fingers through the tangled mass.  He made fists instead.

   She must have thought he was sleeping for she turned her head to look his way.  He fought the urge to shift restlessly beneath her gaze. She was staring at him again.  Her heated gaze taking him in slowly. Roaming over his legs and chest as though she were touching him.

   There was no fighting it long especially after she licked her parted lips ( _ Light have mercy… _ ).  He felt his dick harden and he had to sit up less she notice.

  “Please don’t look at me that way, Madam!” he barked, tilting his head forward to better see her.  His voice was harsh but he was borderline begging. He was desperate. He couldn’t handle these looks of hers.  They made him feel like a man…

   She gasped and both of her hands flew to her flaming red cheeks.  She averted her gaze from him immediately. He could see the blush going down her neck.

   “I-I a-apologize!” she whispered, keeping her eyes away from him.  She was mortified. Caught red-handed eye-raping him. 

   “I’m a Leper, Madam,” he spoke the words as though dragged from his very soul, and then added quietly, “I have  _ nothing _ to offer you.”

   Her head raised swiftly and her eyes found his mask.  Her eyes narrowed and he shifted again. Her look was calculating now...

   “What if I want nothing?” she murmured quietly, and as her face darkened more she went on her knees on the bed so she was almost the same height as he.  She raised both hands as though to stop him from talking or moving and licked her lips again, “Hear me out?”

   He was silent a long time and he cursed the heat pooling in his belly as he watched her through the slits of his mask.  

   Temptation.  That’s what she was… And he didn’t know if he could fight her.

   She must have taken his silence as consent for she licked her mouth again.  Without looking at him (her eyes settled somewhere on his legs) she grabbed a handful of her long red hair and started playing with it nervously.

   “I’m terribly lonely,” she began, “Everyone is scared of me,” he found himself looking her up and down from behind his mask as she said those words, “No one speaks to me.  My name carries the shame of my Ancestor…” she trailed off and closed her eyes as tears filled them, “I guess I must sound terribly selfish to you…” 

   “I could infect you,” he spoke slowly, deliberately. “Surely there must be ano…” it was his turn to trail off.  

   He didn’t want to see her with another. 

   “And what if I tell you that I’ve had experience with Leprosy,” she murmured, while his heart accelerated, “My entire family…”

   “Then you know,” he cut her off,  “Why would you seek to lie with a man on death’s door?  I can give you no future, no children.”

    “Because…” she trailed off and blushed brightly, while he waited patiently. “You’re not scared of me.  And you’re wrong. Your seed isn’t diseased…”

   As she said those words he froze. “I am deformed and diseased, Madam.”

   “And I find you incredibly attractive regardless,” she blushed hotly and closed her eyes, “Baldwin…” she swallowed and he straightened against the wall as she said the words he’d never have believed if he hadn’t heard them from her very lips.  And his name…

   “Madam,” he paused and closed his eyes from within his mask.  She wanted him… truly wanted him… Then she could have him, any which way she wanted, “Command me,” he swallowed, and gave up, “tell me what you want.”

   Her eyes flew to his mask and though her eyes were filled with tears, she smiled brilliantly.  He found the air knocked out of his lungs. “You,” she smiled, “I just want you.”

   He let her words flow over him.  A balm to his wounded body. “Madam…”

  “Ems,” she corrected him, “Call me Ems…”

  He leaned forward and reached for her with his long arms.  She weighed nothing and he was able to pull her towards him without using any effort.

   She gasped as she fell against his cuirass.  Her hands were tiny on his chest and he suddenly wanted her to touch him.  He wanted to know if he could feel her… Her hair… her body…

   She was sprawled on top of him and when his dick stiffened, he knew she felt it for she gasped and her wide eyes went to his face.

   “Remove the armour?” she whispered.

  He moved her off of him and stood beside the bed.  He towered over her but he slowly started removing his armour.  He pulled off the white hooded cloak first, exposing thinning black hair and the contraption that was his mask.

   He then pulled on the leather straps holding his armour to his body.  It took a good five minutes to remove it. He finally stood, his chest and back bare.  His arms were still bandaged and he still wore his mask.

   Her eyes looked over his naked  torso and she started fanning herself.  He couldn’t stop himself as he flexed his pectorals, showcasing his muscles.  She reacted exactly as he’d hoped she would. She gasped and blushed even more.

  “You’re beautiful,” she whispered.  It was his turn to blush.

   “Madam…”

   “Emily,” she corrected and then stood on the bed on wobbly legs.  She was the same height as him now and she was brazen as she stood directly in front of him.  She turned her back to him, “undo my laces?” 

   He was slow to remove his gauntlets.  They dropped to the ground unheeded as he slowly reached for the laces of her stays.  She gasped as his scarred knuckles brushed against the back of her neck.

   He was gentle as he loosened her dress.  When it sagged she pulled the fabric away from her body, revealing her undergarments (she kicked her dress away with a sigh of relief).  He felt himself take a deep breath as she turned back to face him.

   “Does the mask have to stay?” she murmured, looking at him through her lashes.

   “I would prefer it to stay, but if you wish it removed…” he trailed off.

   “Kiss me?” she whispered, knocking him sideways.

   He swallowed, obviously reluctant.  “Madam…”

    She turned a deep red as she leaned forward. “That was not a request,” she said deliberately.  He straightened and a faint smile tugged at his twisted lips.

   “As you wish, Emily,” he rumbled her name very slowly and watched as a dazzling smile curved her lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  6

   She remained very still as he leaned forward and very gently pressed his twisted lips to hers, he'd kept his mask on so the metal touched her nose.  He tasted of smoke and dust and a hint of… bark?    

   He rumbled against her mouth and his hands very slowly came up to touch her cheeks.  His long fingers (she did notice that they were heavily scarred and somewhat deformed) very cautiously tunneled their way into her mass of red hair.  They were both holding their breath, her because she didn't want to ruin the moment with her titter and he because he wanted to focus on his sense of touch.

   He felt nothing with the tips of his fingers (not even pressure…) but his knuckles, his palms and parts of the back of his hands felt the incredible softness that was her mane.  Her skin was flawless and warm, he could write a sonnet to it. He was very slow as he moved forward and pressed his mouth to hers again. She didn't push him away, rather her tongue licked at the seam of his scarred mouth, demanding entry. 

   He groaned and parted his lips.  He felt her tongue against his and clenched his eyes closed.  He couldn't taste her ( _how he wish he could_ ) but he imagined her flavour and he got hard from it.   _ Really hard _ .  His pants were starting to become incredibly  _ tight _ .

   “Hold me,” she murmured against his mouth and he found his arms deliberately coming down and around her dainty body (He'd released her head).  Since she stood on the bed, one arm went around her lower back while the other around her upper thighs. He pressed her against himself (her knees were on either side of his hips)while both of her arms wrapped around his neck.  

    Her tongue touched his again and she moaned as his hands grabbed her undergarments (by undergarments we mean long underwear from ankle to wrist to neck).  He felt the thread pull at the seams, but before the fabric tore, she pulled away from him and blushed.

    “Don't rip…” she blinked, pulling away a little and then realizing that if she were to remove her underwear she would be completely bare.  She turned scarlet.

   He chuckled softly as she turned a brighter pink. “Would you find it easier if I were fully unclothed first, Emily?” He liked saying her name.  Liked how she shivered when he did so.

   Her eyes widened even more and he wanted to purr as her look turned hot and she gazed down his body.  He  _ really _ enjoyed how she looked at him.

   “Yes, Baldwin,” she breathed, her cheeks heating up.

   He felt his lips curl up and though he was scarred, he was actually looking forward to stripping for her (she'd already made it very clear how much she enjoyed his body).  He was more than well endowed, and he was in amazing peak physical condition despite his disease (cut off his legs at the knees, his arms at the elbows and his head and there was no disease).  He wanted to see how she would react to him fully nude. 

    She stepped away from him and watched him in the darkness (their eyes had long adjusted) expectantly.  He licked his lips and opened the belt at his toned waist deliberately. The spiked leg guards fell away, leaving him in the leather breeches.  He pulled the drawstrings and before he let them fall, he glanced at her face as if to reassure himself that she really wanted this.

   Emily’s eyes weren't on his mask.  Far from it… she was staring at his hands, at his crotch.  

   He swallowed dryly.

   He blushed then and pulled the leggings apart.  His erection sprung free of his clothes, standing tall amidst the soft, springy black hair that began just below his navel.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as she made a noise in the back of her throat, her eyes had widened more and then flew to his mask.

   He let her look at him.  His arms and lower legs were bandaged quite well that she saw nothing of his lesions, of his disease.  He couldn't hide the many scars that dotted his massive frame but those were gotten in battle and he wore them with pride.

   “May I touch you?” She asked quietly.

   “Yes!” he breathed and then couldn't stop himself as he begged, “Please...” He felt a bead of pre-cum escape at the mere thought of her hands on him.  His cock panted for her.  

   He kept his eyes closed and his head raised as she approached him.  She hesitated only a moment before placing both her hands on his pectorals.  He shivered as she burned him and then gasped as both her hands moved over his shoulders.  He _felt_ the pulse in her fingertips.  He groaned low and slow.

   He gasped again as she circled a dark nipple with her fingers and he twitched when she raised her fingers to scratch gently with her nails down his muscled abdomen.  He arched back, breathing heavily as he did so. He could  _ feel _ her.   _ Feel _ her hands as they paused near his navel, and then twirled in the soft hair (his skin exploded in gooseflesh).  He opened his eyes and without saying a word, he placed one of his hands over hers and guided her downward.

  She squeaked as he put himself in her palm.  She tensed though her fingers wrapped around his length almost automatically.  She made another squeak-like noise as he leaned forward and kissed her. Her fingers tightened and he groaned in her mouth.  He definitely could feel  _ that _ .

   “Make love to me, Baldwin?” She whispered, she'd closed her eyes as she blushed brightly.

   “Look at me, Emily,” he murmured, wanting her to look at him.  To see _him_.

   Her lust-filled, vivid blue eyes opened.  He licked his lips.

   “Tell me you want me?” He said the words before he could stop them.

    She answered almost immediately, “I want you, Baldwin…”

   He reached up with both hands (He noted that she kept her fingers wrapped around his length of her own accord) and undid the clamps of his mask and removed it.

   “Tell me again,” he spoke once he'd removed his mask, his black eyes staring at her intently.  She smiled at him, and leaned forward as she pressed her mouth to his. He gasped into her mouth and kissed her back ardently.  He dropped the mask to the floor unheeded while she raised both her hands to his thinning hair and grabbed a hold of his head.

   “Make love to me,” she repeated against his lips, her eyes looking into his deeply.

  “As you wish, Emily,” he spoke gently.  His fingers went to the buttons at her breasts but they were too small and he fiddled with them for a moment before he chuckled and lowered his hands in defeat while she looked at him confused.  

  It took her a moment to realize what the problem was, and when she did, she smiled and went for the buttons herself.  She'd freed almost half before she realized that she was now shedding the last of her protection.

   He didn't move, or say anything.  He just watched. That she had kissed him without his mask on had almost knocked the legs out from under him, done more than that but he wouldn't admit to more.  He wanted to crush her against him, to cage her with his body. He really liked that she was so small.

   He chuckled faintly as she squared her shoulders and undid the rest of the buttons.  She didn't look at him as she removed the bottom part of her underwear and stood in front of him in all her naked glory.  He openly stared to the point that she hid her breasts with her arms and began squirming in place.

   “Don't,” he reached for her wrists, “Please don't hide from me…”

   She blushed and lowered her arms, letting him look his fill.  His mouth watered and his tongue twirled in his mouth as her nipples began going erect beneath his gaze.  She stepped close to him again, this time he moaned when he pulled her into his body. 

    _She_ _ felt _ _wonderful_.  

   Her naked arms wrapped around his neck again and she leaned forward to kiss him but it was interrupted by him grabbing a hold of her legs and lifting them up to wrap around his wide waist.  She squeaked as he knelt on the bed, one hand on her ass, and the other across her back with his palm at the back of her neck. He'd effectively caged her into his arms and he'd rumbled in satisfaction.

   His cock was weeping against her now, and he prayed feverishly that he would last when the time came (it had been so  _ long _ …).  His testes were already clenching and close to his body.  It wouldn't take much to send him crashing over the edge. 

   “Be gentle, Baldwin,” she breathed into his ear, pins and needles shot down his spine, “I'm a virgin.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  7

   He tensed and groaned as he broke out in sweat.  He wasn’t going to last  _ at all _ at this rate (it was mildly embarrassing that he  _ almost _ whimpered).  He moved them on the bed until she was below him, her legs still about his waist, her head in the pillows.  A halo of red surrounded her and it constantly drew his gaze. 

    He knelt between her knees and reached back around to unhook her legs.  He swallowed as his thick dick settled atop of her glistening curls at the junction of her thighs.  Her skin darkened beneath his gaze as he stared down at their genitals. He was really big next to her...

   He slid his hips forward deliberately rubbing himself against her pleasure pearl.  She gasped and her legs moved as though she were trying to close them, he didn’t let her.  

   He reached down with one of his hands and trailed a long finger gently across her folds.  Her breath hitched as he did it again. His blood boiled when he felt her dew leak against his testes (they were right at her entrance).  He took a deep breath and pulled away from her.

   She gasped and reached for him until she realized he wasn’t going far.  He’d merely knelt on the floor at the end of the bed (he didn’t have to pull her down much seeing as he was so big), and bent over her form.  He’d hurt her if he didn’t prepare her properly.

   She keened as he brought her legs over his shoulder and proceeded to kiss her inner thigh.  He raked his teeth across her delicate flesh, laving his tongue generously against her skin (cursing again his lost sense of taste).  His testes clenched hard at the first flick of his tongue against her slit (she’d screamed his name when he did it again with more pressure). 

   He feasted on her for a long time (he’d almost ejaculated twice when he’d felt both her orgasms with his tongue), all the while she writhed in his arms like a beached mermaid.

   He pushed his broad tongue deep within her wet folds and realized she was ready to take him should he wish it.  His dick twitched and he reared up (still on his knees on the floor). He  _ definitely _ wished it.  But first… He had to be sure...

   “I can still stop,” he found himself forcing out hoarsely, giving her one final chance to escape him.  Both his eyes had closed and he held his breath as he stilled.

  “Do I have to repeat myself again?” she whispered, arching her back. “Make love to me!” she commanded, her voice going right through him. 

   He climbed back on the bed and settled himself between her legs.  Her eyes had the look of a woman well pleasured, and still she parted her limbs for him.  He grinned down at her, extremely proud of himself. It wouldn’t matter now if he lost control and ejaculated quickly.  His Lady was satiated.

   Emily arched against him as he reached down his body and grabbed himself in hand.  His eyes rolled as he rubbed himself against her, liberally coating himself with her honey.  She whimpered and he looked down at her pussy as he very slowly pushed himself in.

   Her muscles tensed and he groaned fairly loudly as she tightened around him like a vice.  He gritted his teeth and surged forward with one powerful thrust.

   She screamed and jerked beneath him as he buried himself to the hilt inside her body.  He stilled completely, his body sweating profusely as she clenched her eyes closed and her nails scratched at his back.  He growled against her throat but remained unmoving.

   He cooed at her as she took short gasping breaths.

   “I love you!” she barely whispered though he heard her as clear as day.  It was too much for him. He couldn’t handle it.

   “Emily!” her name was a guttural prayer.  His cock started pulsing and his ejaculation came rushing out of him just as he started pumping his hips into her (he’d lasted a whole thirty seconds…).  He groaned and muttered in abandonment as her limbs tightened about him.

  He collapsed on top of her (not fully), his head in between her breasts.  He supported as much as he could of himself on his bandaged arms. Both her arms were wrapped around his neck while her legs were around his waist.  Her eyes were closed though a smile played on her lips.

   “Demons have been banished,” she spoke quietly, “Sleep with me, Baldwin?”

   He rolled from a top her and arranged her so that her head was on his shoulder (he was on his back and she on her side), her hair over his arm.  He fixed the blankets over them.

   “For as long as I live, Madam,” he murmured as he kissed the top of her head.

   She smiled against his chest and fell into a blissful, deep slumber where Eldritch demons and Leprosy didn't exist.


End file.
